The Kalashnikov assault rifle: truth and myths about the most famous weapon
В last time We settled on the fact that the groundwork for the main character was laid. An intermediate cartridge (more powerful than a pistol cartridge but weaker than a rifle cartridge) had already been created, the concept of an assault rifle chambered for it had been proven in real combat, and a whole family of cartridges had been planned for the Soviet 7,62×39mm. weaponsThe only thing missing was that very design that would bring it all together and be truly successful. It appeared, and this assault rifle became, perhaps, the most recognizable weapon in stories.
A weapon that everyone will recognize
Even those who've never held a gun are familiar with the silhouette of the Kalashnikov assault rifle. The curved magazine, the distinctive gas tube above the barrel, the angular shape—this outline is unmistakable. The AK has appeared on the coats of arms and flags of several countries, it's painted on walls, and it's recognized on every continent.
The numbers match the fame. According to various estimates, around one hundred million assault rifles of this family have been produced over the decades—more than any other small arms model on the planet. Admittedly, this figure is arbitrary: no one has kept an accurate count of all the factories, licenses, and homemade copies worldwide, and one hundred million is more of a generally accepted estimate than a calculated fact. But the order is correct: it has fought and continues to fight literally everywhere, in the hands of regular armies and partisans, professionals and hastily trained militias.
And it's precisely because of this fame that more legends have grown up around the AK than around any other weapon. Where there's fame, there are myths: some exaggerate, others, on the contrary, try to downplay. Let's try to separate truth from fiction without straining either way. Let's start with the most popular accusation.
The main myth: "The AK is a copy of the StG 44"
If you've heard anything controversial about the AK, it's almost certainly this: that Kalashnikov simply copied the German StG 44 assault rifle. This myth is tenacious, has been around for decades, and is fueled by several sources.
First, the external similarities. Place the two assault rifles side by side: the overall layout is indeed similar—the gas piston above the barrel, the curved magazine below, the pistol grip. At a glance, they look like relatives.
Secondly, there's the German connection. After the war, German specialists deported to the USSR worked, including Hugo Schmeisser himself—a renowned gunsmith involved with the StG 44. He worked in Izhevsk, among other places. What follows is a simple, yet false, chain of events: here's a German, here's an assault rifle—that's the whole "solution." Although here the clues don't connect: Kalashnikov developed his prototypes not in Izhevsk, but at a factory in Kovrov, hundreds of kilometers away from Schmeisser. The assault rifle arrived in Izhevsk later, at the serial production stage, when the design was already complete.
But dig deeper, and the similarities fade. The key to automatic operation is how the weapon locks the barrel before firing, and here the designs are fundamentally different. The StG 44 locks by tilting the bolt: the rear of the bolt tilts downward, engaging with the receiver lug. The AK has a rotating bolt, which rotates and engages with lugs. These are two different engineering schools, and the only thing they have in common is their era.
And so it goes. The gas system is designed differently, the cartridges are different (7,92×33mm Kurz versus 7,62×39mm), the receiver layout and assembly logic are different. Internally, these are two distinct mechanisms, similar only in outline.
And what about Schmeisser? Yes, he was in Izhevsk. But there's no trace of his actual involvement in the AK's development: neither in documents nor in memoirs. German specialists were busy with their own tasks, sharing their collective production experience, but Schmeisser didn't design the specific assault rifle.
So where does the similarity come from? It's genuine, arguing is pointless. But the explanation is simpler than conspiracy: both the StG 44 and the AK solved the same problem, using the same class of ammunition (intermediate cartridges) within the same assault rifle concept. When two designers independently search for the optimal shape for similar requirements, they naturally arrive at a similar layout: the gas vent is more conveniently positioned above the barrel, the magazine for intermediate cartridges is logically curved, and the grip is positioned under the hand. The appearance is the same, but the internals are not.
How the AK was actually born
After the war, the USSR announced a competition for a new assault rifle chambered for the 1943 model cartridge. Several design teams participated with different designs: this was a fair, competitive development, not the epiphany of a lone individual at the drawing board. This competition ultimately produced the assault rifle adopted into service in 1949. It is commonly known as the AK-47, although strictly speaking, this is an oversimplification: the first production AK and the later AKM, adopted in 1959, were noticeably different. There's a curious twist here: the very first AKs were actually designed with a stamped receiver, but the technology of the time produced too many defects, so they abandoned it in favor of a milled receiver—more expensive and heavier, but more reliable to manufacture. Stamping was only reverted to the AKM when production matured. So, the "milled early AK and stamped AKM" isn't a linear simplification of the design, but a return to the original concept at a new technological level. But in popular parlance, all of this has merged into the famous "AK-47."
There's also a counter-myth. While some say "Kalashnikov copied everything," others portray him as a lone genius who single-handedly created a masterpiece from scratch. Both versions are flawed.
Mikhail Kalashnikov led the team, rather than sitting alone over the designs. Experienced engineers and designers worked alongside him, such as Alexander Zaitsev, whose contribution to refining the design is considered significant. And Kalashnikov himself, importantly, wasn't shy about borrowing from others' successful solutions: some were copied from competition competitors, others from previous designs. And this isn't a cause for criticism. A skilled designer's strength lies in their ability to assemble a functional, technologically advanced, and reliable design from both their own and others' ideas. Almost no one has ever managed to devise everything from scratch, and the most capable assembler wins in this craft. And Kalashnikov's team succeeded better than their competitors in assembling a reliable and technologically advanced machine.
What he is really appreciated for
Now about the real merits: without gloss, but also without belittling.
The AK's main asset is its reliability and low maintenance. Its design is tolerant of dirt, poor lubrication, and careless maintenance. Large internal gaps are intentionally left so that dirt that gets into the mechanism doesn't jam it completely, but passes right through without completely locking the moving parts. For a weapon that falls into the hands of anyone and in any conditions, this quality is invaluable.
Simplicity is also a factor. The AK is easy to learn: a soldier with minimal training can disassemble, reassemble, clean, and learn to fire it. And it's relatively cheap and quick to produce, which is crucial for a mass-produced army.
But honesty requires a caveat. The myth that "AKs never jam" is still a myth. Its safety margin is above average, yes, but it can be overwhelmed: fill the mechanism with fine sand, fill it with mud beyond all reason, and it, too, will fail. It's just that the threshold beyond which this occurs is significantly higher than that of many of its peers.
Simplicity itself has its downside. The AK's accuracy is inferior to many Western models: the M16, for example, generally places bullets more densely when handled carefully. This is the price of philosophy: the designers deliberately sacrificed a degree of accuracy for reliability, cost, and simplicity. This is appropriate for a mass-produced weapon, but it was a conscious choice, not the absence of flaws.
Why did the AK become a symbol?
Why did this particular machine gun become a global icon, and not some other, even technically more sophisticated one? The design isn't the main thing here, or rather, it's not the only thing. A lot of things came together at once.
A successful weapon combined with the ability to produce it in colossal quantities. The Soviet Union generously supplied AKs to allies, friendly countries, and national liberation movements around the world: licensed and unlicensed copies spread across dozens of countries. And its simplicity completed the job: the assault rifle was mastered by anyone, from a career soldier to a yesterday's peasant picking up a rifle for the first time.
Thus, the AK transcended the boundaries of simply a successful assault rifle. It appeared on the national emblem of Mozambique and on the emblems of armed movements; children in Africa were reportedly named after it; its silhouette became an international symbol, recognizable in places where not a line of Russian would be read.
The story didn't end there. The 7,62×39mm eventually revealed its limits, and designers turned to a smaller, lighter, and faster-moving cartridge. This is how the AK-74, chambered for the low-impulse 5,45×39mm, came into being. But that’s already the story of the next round – more about that another time.
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